


A Hatchling's Tale

by galoots



Category: Disney Duck Universe, Disney Ducks (Comics)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27210733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galoots/pseuds/galoots
Summary: Donald tells his uncle the story of how he hatched. Its wildly inaccurate.
Relationships: Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24
Collections: Team Uncle Week 2020





	A Hatchling's Tale

“Tell me a story.”

It was Donald’s nightly request.

Putting Donald to bed was always an arduous affair. It started early in the evening with Scrooge chasing Donald around for hours to wear the boy out. More often than not, it was Scrooge who would end up exhausted while Donald would still be zipping around full of energy. Then came bath time, and the usual struggles that came along with it. Most kids hated baths and getting them in the tub was the trouble. For Donald, it was getting him _out_. The wee bairn could stay there all night, sailing his little tugboat bath toy around the bubbles until the water grew ice cold. Scrooge had to all but pull Donald out of the bath, kicking and screaming. After that came the ordeal of wrestling Donald into his footie jammies, always difficult when his baby much preferred running around in a towel and causing havoc around the house.

Sooner or later, Scrooge would catch up to his duckling and carry him giggling and squirming to his bed. He’d tuck him in tight, pulling the blankets up to Donald’s chin and kissing him on the forehead. Then—and only then—was it time for a story.

The mattress dipped as Scrooge settled his weight upon it. “What story shall we spin tonight then?”

Donald’s face scrunched up as he considered his options. “I got one!” He snuggled closer to his uncle, leaning his head against Scrooge’s side. “Tell me the story of when I hatched.”

“When you hatched?” Scrooge swung an arm around his duckling, pulling him in for a snug embrace. “Alright. That I can do.”

Scrooge cleared his throat with aplomb before he began. “It was May Day when your mother laid you—"

“No! Stop!” Donald slapped his covers with irritation. The sudden interruption startled Scrooge so much, his glasses fell off his beak and onto the bedspread.

Scrooge felt around blindly for his glasses. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s _not_ how it happened.”

Finding his bifocals, Scrooge placed them back on the bridge of his beak. With his glasses back on, Donald’s sullen face was suddenly clear to see. “Laddie, I’ve barely even begun!”

“And you’re already messing it up, unca!”

“If you’re the expert, why don’t you tell it?”

An inspired smile spread across Donald’s beak at the idea. “I will tell it! I’ll tell the _real_ story of how I was hatched.”

And so began Donald’s tale:

_Once upon a time, in a far-off land, a man was engaged in fierce battle with a powerful witch. The man was Scrooge McDuck, the richest duck in the world. And the witch? She was the fearsome Magica de Spell, the most powerful spellcaster the world had ever known. The two were perched atop the famed Mount Vesuvius engaged in a battle that had raged for hours now. So deeply embroiled in their turmoil were they, that they failed to notice when the ground beneath their feet began to rumble. A sound echoed forth like hell had opened its maw and grew in intensity until a cacophony emerged so loud it was heard in the farthest reaches of space. With its terrible cry, a gush of lava issued from the volcano’s throat and poured down the sides of the mountain. Forgetting their scuffle, Scrooge and Magica rushed down the mountain, hopping over streams of red-hot lava carving its way through the igneous rock. Only one moment was spared to glance back at the oncoming threat, but to the pair’s great surprise, riding the crest of a magnificent flare of magma was an egg!_

“An egg?” Scrooge asked.

“My egg.” Donald informed him. “Please don’t interrupt, unca.”

“Darling, if that were true you’d be hard-boiled.”

Donald placed a tiny finger on his uncle’s beak. “Shh. This is my story, unca.”

_Upon seeing the definitely not hardboiled egg, both Scrooge and Magica knew they had to have it._

_Once they had fled to safety, their fight began anew. But this time it was over who would get the privilege of raising such a clearly rad baby. For hours they fought, Magic hurled spells with all her might and Scrooge did some sick backflips and roundhouse kicks._

Scrooge laughed. “I am not, nor have I ever been, capable of that kind of athleticism, kiddo.”

“Shh!”

_Magica’s might was great, but Scrooge’s love was a force even greater than the witch’s spellcraft. He overcame her might and defeated Magica de Spell. She skulked away from the fight, cursing Scrooge McDuck’s name, and swearing to return to visit me and shower me with love._

“Mm-hmm.” Scrooge nodded. “That’s definitely why Magica always bothers me.”

Donald allowed this one interruption. “I knew it!” He whispered to himself.

_Scrooge examined his newly won bounty. My egg was dark-blue with a sick yellow lightning bolt across its circumference. Detailed on the eggshell was a tableau of my birth, the volcano’s eruption, the legendary fight, my unca’s victory—all of this had been foretold._

“Your eggshell was white. With a few off-white speckles.”

“That isn’t cool at all! That’s boring!”

“The cool part was the life generating inside.” Scrooge booped Donald on the beak, but Donald frowned despite the affectionate gesture.

_ANYWAY—tired and sore from the long battle, unca—I mean Scrooge—scooped me up into his arms and cradled me. It was time to begin their long journey home. It was an expedition fraught with peril… Scrooge crossed stormy seas that teemed with sharks, bounded over cragged pits filled with monsters and their terrible gnashing teeth, and battled with a tiger in the dense Amazonian jungle who wanted to eat me! Through all this, Scrooge prevailed, and he dreamed about the duck that would soon emerge from his egg. He was certain he’d be amazing, and strong, and handsome, and—_

“Cute as a button!” Scrooge supplied with a smile.

Donald poked his uncle hard in the side as punishment for interrupting his tale. “I’m not cute! I’m super cool and awesome!”

“And adorable.” Scrooge whispered this addition under his breath so as not to incur more punishment from the temperamental duckling.

_Finally, after many woes and trials, Scrooge arrived back home and collapsed into the awaiting arms of his beloved._

“My what?”

Donald gawked at his uncle. Surely, he was playing dumb. “Duckworth!”

A blush colored Scrooge’s white feathered face. “My b-beloved…? You mean my… beloved butler? Pal? Workmate proximity associate?”

A scoff emanated from Donald’s throat that sounded near identical to the kind Duckworth would let out whenever he was fed-up with Scrooge’s shenanigans. Donald ignored his uncle’s blundering and continued on with his story.

_Home once again, Scrooge relayed his epic tale of discovery, danger, and thrill. As he recounted each harrowing detail, cracks started to form in the shell of my egg. I was ready to hatch! With a decisive karate kick, I burst from my egg, vaporizing the shell in an instant and leaving behind only a fine powdery dust. I emerged from my egg clad toe to tip in a pirate’s outfit. Complete with pirate boots, eyepatch, and a cutlass._

Scrooge clutched his sides as he chortled. “You weren’t born with a pirate costume on!”

“What was I wearing then?” Donald leveled his uncle with an incredulous eye.

Scrooge wiped away a tear from his eye. “O-ho, that was priceless. Dearie, you were naked when you hatched.”

Donald’s beak gaped wide with shock. He couldn’t believe the blasphemous words his uncle had uttered. No pirate outfit? No clothes at _all?_ “Unca! I was _not_ born…” Donald lowered his voice to a whisper, “ _naked.”_

“You sure were. Naked as the day, well, you were born! You had the cutest little tush.” Scrooge pinched Donald’s behind with a wink.

“Ouch!” Donald slapped away his uncle’s hand. “I was _not_ born naked and I do _not_ have a cute tush!”

Scrooge heaved his shoulders up in a shrug. “I think the pictures in your baby book would prove otherwise, but have it your way.” He ruffled Donald’s messy head of feathers. “Is that all then? That’s the story of your hatching?”

Donald crossed his arms testily. “Yes! And it was way better than your lame story.”

Scrooge yawned and pulled his angry little duckling into a warm hug. “If you say so, dear.”

“I do say so.” Donald’s eyes fluttered shut as he wormed deeper into his uncle’s feathers.

Their argument ended there as the two of them drifted off to sleep, cuddled together in Donald’s small bed. Perhaps they’d renew their argument in the morning, but for now, they were just happy to have found each other.


End file.
